The drive out of town to his garage is long and frustrating, but Vadim has few options. He does not want to live in the temporary refugee accommodation, where conditions are variable. This is his home, but like the others left behind, he faces a dilemma that can quickly become unbearable. If the warmer months were uncomfortable but generally tolerable, the coming winter will bring challenges that pose another real threat to life. “I have no idea what to do next,” says the 65-year-old, who drove ambulances to and from a military hospital in Kyiv at the start of the invasion. “I must have prayed badly to God. I have nothing left.” There is no access to heating or running water in Vadim’s garage and compensation from the local authority will not cover his own arrangements. He has received two payments of €50 (£43.41) but this will not see him through the cold temperatures from November onwards and there is little confirmation. Any hope of speedy restoration work being carried out on his burnt building seems far-fetched and the anxiety is collective. On the walls of a dilapidated block of flats nine stories further along the street is a simple message in Ukrainian and English: “We want to live here.” It’s a common refrain in the towns and villages around Kyiv, which has seen many of the grimmest atrocities known to have occurred since February. While some can’t bear to leave, others simply don’t have the money to live in short-term housing, for which demand outstrips supply in any case. In the absence of quick solutions, the ability to supply firewood will be critical. For Inna, who lives eight miles away in the village of Potashnya, there is no more important issue. She was living with her disabled husband in a house that was flattened while the couple were luckily visiting her mother nearby. They now live in the relatively intact property of a neighboring family who left for Germany, but the draft whistling through the windows covered only by film will grow bitterer by the week. Houses destroyed by attacks in Potashnya, May 31, 2022. Photo: Natacha Pisarenko/AP Ina is on the edge: she has yet to receive compensation for the destruction of her home, as the documents that provided proof of ownership were reduced to ashes like everything else. This may come in time, but for now almost every penny is spent on stockpiling firewood with which to cook and keep warm. She recently spent her savings for a month, but there will be no money for more. It sits outside the building in a pile that will quickly diminish. “Every brick in my house was placed there by my own hands. we built everything ourselves,” he says. “Now it’s all gone and I’m nobody here.” If there is no help, Ina will use blankets and wooden boards to keep from getting cold, praying that such paltry insulation will be enough. Life has been better for the chatty and optimistic Olga, who is sitting outside one of the few cafes that are working again in Borodianka, eating an ice cream. The concerns, however, are similar. With the financial support of a daughter who works in Germany, she was able to buy 250 euros worth of firewood and hopes to see her through the winter. However, she will move to her smaller estate in the countryside because it would be too difficult to heat the larger house she currently lives in. Winter does not scare Olga. Compared to the terror Russian soldiers caused in her town, she says, it seems nothing. But he shares some of Vadim’s plight: when the war began, he had an apartment nearby and, after it was destroyed, received little reward and no indication that it would be rebuilt. The Guardian made repeated attempts to contact local authorities, but no one was available for comment. Dangerous housing is not the only problem in Borodianka that will be exacerbated by the plummeting temperature. Lack of employment entails a real risk. Archie Bland and Nimo Omer take you to the top stories and what they mean, free every weekday morning Privacy Notice: Newsletters may contain information about charities, online advertising and content sponsored by external parties. For more information, see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and Google’s Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Serhiy recently turned 38 and, working for a construction company in Kyiv, had a well-paying career ahead of him in February. He is now unemployed and living alone after helping his wife and daughter move to Poland next month. His house is in relatively good condition but paying for its upkeep will be another matter. Many people won’t be able to afford gas heating this winter, he believes, and even firewood will be for the lucky ones. The fear, for Serhiy and others in the region, is that their plight has slipped down the list of priorities since those brutal spring months. “At the beginning of April they promised us that the state and charities would restore everything by winter and the whole world would help us,” he says. “But nothing like that happened. Sure, assisted cars keep arriving, but that’s not the main thing right now. We have to rebuild the houses and prepare for winter.” Even if his funds cannot be extended to satisfactory heating, Serhiy will not seek alternative accommodation. He believes that if the house is left unattended during the cold weather, the scale of repairs he will face upon return will be financially unsustainable. Without a regular income, there is no solution that would serve him well. The same is true of Vadim, who stands by the ruins of a life built on graft and contemplates the terrifying uncertainty the Russians have created. “I won’t be able to forgive them,” he says. “I worked for 30 years and invested everything in my family and home. Now it’s all gone.”
